The Heir of Slytherin
by Smileyfax
Summary: Tom Riddle's life is rendered complicated by the fact that Myrtle did not die. His discovery of why she did not die renders his life incredibly complicated.
1. Chapter 1

The young man who would be Lord Voldemort stormed into his quarters with haste. He didn't call it panic in his mind, because panic is something his lessers would do. A mudblood panics. The Heir of Slytherin hastes.

He had been in the second floor girls' bathroom, opening the Chamber of Secrets to release the Basilisk on the sheep of the school (namely, the mudbloods and the blood traitors) when a shout came from one of the stalls, demanding he leave. The Basilisk acted on its own imperative, slithering into view of the stall and affixing its gaze onto the occupant. A body slumped out, dead.

The dead eyes of Moaning Myrtle stared at him.

Oh, that's what everybody called her, anyway. Tom himself had never bothered learning her last name. And he had killed her.

He paced, thinking of what to do. He knew that the murder would not be traced back to him, as nobody knew of his connection to the Basilisk. Probably. His mind began working away at the problem, anyway; some (the Transfiguration professor came foremost to mind) had suspected him no matter their lack of proof, and so he had to distance himself as much as possible anyway.

Hagrid...

He remembered the oaf of a giant was keeping an acromantula specimen which called itself Aragog. While Tom appreciated the beast by itself (though he was more of a snake man), he despised how Hagrid treated it like a dear friend. Magical creatures, especially one so Dark, ought to be treated with the respect they deserved -- letting your guard down a moment could be fatal, or often worse.

He thought he could use Aragog against Hagrid -- reveal the acromantula's presence, claim that it had Petrified all the students (and killed Myrtle) over the past year, and get Hagrid thrown into Azkaban.

Sure of his plan, he almost left his quarters to find a teacher, when a thought tugged at him. He remembered Professor Slughorn had told him once of a way a wizard could extend his life indefinitely. In the library, he had discovered the exact means in 'Secrets of the Darkest Art', and had memorized the instructions on the spot. Now, it seemed, would be the opportune time to see if he could craft a horcrux of his own.

He looked around the room, wondering what he could use for the vessel of his soul fragment. At last, his eyes alighted upon his diary. It took him nearly an hour to prepare the ritual.

Finally, he began. He muttered a series of complex spells which were meant to bind the soul fragment to the diary, and waited expectantly.

The diary began to glow...black. Rather, light seemed to somehow slip off of it, like water did a duck's feathers. Tom allowed the smallest malignant smile to play across his face...

The book suddenly burst into flames, turning into ashes within moments. The smile was shattered as his mouth fell open in utter shock at what had just happened.

He stood and furiously kicked at the cinders which once held his record of the past six and a half years. He stifled an irrational burst of hatred towards Professor Slughorn -- the old idiot could hardly know that the horcrux charm didn't work.

He forced himself to breathe slowly and draw in his rage until it could be constructive. Right now, he had to find a teacher and turn Hagrid in.

After walking the halls of Hogwarts for several minutes, he met one. The last one he was hoping to see. Albus Dumbledore, Professor of Transfiguration.

"Tom, I am glad to have found you," the elder wizard said, approaching him with urgency. "The Heir of Slytherin has struck again."

Tom feigned shock. "Someone's been murdered?"

Dumbledore looked startled at this. "No, Tom. A Ravenclaw girl was Petrified in one of the bathrooms." 


	2. Chapter 2

Tom found himself once again pacing in his quarters. It was a very foolish thing he had done, asking Dumbledore as if he already knew Myrtle had been dead. He was almost certain the old man knew he was the heir now, and he had to be absolutely careful, else he failed his destiny.

He looked at the scorch marks on his floor, the last remnants of his diary. At least now he knew why the horcrux spell failed; with no murder, his soul would not have fragmented itself, and thus there was nothing for the vessel to hold. In fact, he mused, he was quite lucky that his entire soul did not pass into the diary, which would have rendered his physical body as dead as if he had been hit by the killing curse.

He still did not know why the Ravenclaw hadn't been killed by the Basilisk, and that ate at him most of all. It was impossible for any human (save himself, naturally) to take the brunt of the Basilisk's stare and live. If Myrtle had some secret power he did not know about...he almost dismissed the idea. He knew the witch (a year younger than him), and how pathetic she was. One of his fellow Slytherins, Olive Hornby, took a particular delight in humiliating the girl with taunts, a practice Tom had abandoned long ago as immature and unconstructive. Your opponents did not learn to fear and respect you if all you did was insult them, after all.

It was rather pointless to think about how she survived at all at this point in time. Myrtle lay Petrified in the hospital wing, along with the several other students who had fallen victim to the Basilisk.

The Basilisk...

Tom decided that he could not unleash the serpent's fury anymore...this year, at least. Dumbledore's suspicion was too great, and he could not risk elevating the old man's paranoia any further. Framing Hagrid would be pointless, as well -- given Hagrid's temperament toward magical creatures and the lack of actual deaths, he would merely be severely punished, instead of expelled and jailed.

Coming back to the problem of Myrtle, he did not know how much she knew. It was quite possible she didn't recognize his voice as he spoke to the Basilisk, but he had to be sure. He had to think of a way (once she was un-Petrified) to sneak into the hospital wing, interrogate her, and then kill her if necessary.

After pondering the situation some more, he decided he actually preferred that Myrtle hadn't died. He had been nowhere near ready to actually kill one of the Mudbloods or blood traitors yet (despite the plan he had improvised moments after her 'death'), and his plans could continue as he had calculated now.

All that remained to do was wait until the mandrakes matured so that the Mandrake Restorative Draught could be made, and then he and Myrtle could have a talk.

XXXX

"Hello, Myrtle."

Myrtle awoke as Tom spoke and tapped her with his wand.

"Tom! You came to see me! I knew you would!" She leapt out of bed to embrace the Slytherin,

A horrified look appeared on Riddle's face. "Off me, Mudblood!" he commanded. Myrtle obeyed, withdrawing, but a seductive smile on her face.

"Tom, you have such cute pet names," she giggled. Tom felt bile rise in his throat.

"Myrtle, I must know, what happened in the bathroom?" he asked her, direct as always.

"Well, I heard a boy talking...it was a funny sort of talking, a bit raspy, you know? Anyway, I threw open the door of my stall to yell at him...like I used to do to you..." She smiled again at him, remembering fondly their early meetings. "And then I saw those eyes...those glittering eyes...how ghastly! And then I woke up here this afternoon, when they gave me the draught."

Riddle puzzled over Myrtle's words. If she spoke the truth (and Tom had no doubt she was), then she had not consciously done anything to protect herself. And she did not recognize Tom as the 'boy' she had heard. He decided to probe further.

"Myrtle, there have been some hints as to the monster that's been attacking students. The Petrifications, the slain chickens, the spiders fleeing the castle...it seems we might have a Basilisk on our hands."

Myrtle gasped. "How grotesque!" she uttered. "...Er, what's a Basilisk?"

Tom rolled his eyes and explained the basics to her: Giant, poisonous snake with looks that kill.

"Dreadful! And you think that's what Petrified me?"

Tom nodded. "But the thing is, Myrtle, if you had seen its eyes, then it should have killed you outright!"

"Oh...well, I don't know what to say about that...maybe blood protected me."

"Blood?" Tom grew very interested. Was Myrtle about to reveal...?

"You know, blood wards, protection of the mother?"

Tom looked blank.

"Oh, take an Arithmancy class sometime," she chided. "A mother can spare her child's life if she sacrifices her own."

"So...your mother's death protected you?" Tom asked.

"What? No!" Myrtle shook her head. "Tom, haven't they told you anything?"

"Told me what?"

Myrtle burst into a big smile. "Tom...I'm pregnant!" She embraced him again.

For once in his life, Tom Riddle was too stunned to push her off, to speak, to even think.

Pregnant.

The blood of Slytherin.

Of course. 


	3. Chapter 3

At the beginning of the year, after his first venture into the Chamber of Secrets, he had emerged to hear sobbing coming from one of the stalls. Before he could sneak out quietly, the door was thrown open. "Boys aren't allowed in here!" she shrieked. "I'll tell!" In a moment of haste, Tom improvised and did the one thing to shut her up that couldn't be traced magically: he kissed her.

He pulled away from her lips to find her infuriated face had melted into one with a stupid, goofy grin. He turned and walked out without another word or action.

Over the next week, he heard whispered rumors, and finally confronted Myrtle about it in the Main Hall.

"Listen, you filthy Mudblood!" he had shouted. "You are not my girlfriend. You will never be my girlfriend. I would never sully my...my heritage by even deigning to give you a second glance. So before you get it into your cow head that we are in love, get this through your head: never speak of me again." He had stormed off, ignoring her howls of sorrow and humiliation.

The next time he had left the Chamber, once again he could hear the sobbing from inside the stall. He ran for the door, but was stopped short, as Myrtle burst out and cast a locking charm on the door.

She chewed him out for fifteen minutes, describing the number of human orifices he resembled, what sort of human excreta he found suitable for dining pleasures, related that he had a number of farm animals in his family tree, all of it peppered with more curse words than Tom had been aware existed.

He was only half-listening, of course, as he tried to think of a way to defuse the Muggleborn witch without earning himself a cell in Azkaban.

After Myrtle ran out of steam, Tom kissed her again.

"I'm sorry for the words I said to you in public, my love," he said, pleased at his ability to say such things without vomiting. "I meant to impress upon you that I didn't want our relationship to be public. You see, I have it on good authority that there is strong anti-Muggle sentiment in my year, and Muggles and blood tra- er, that is, friends of Muggles may come under harrassment...or even attack. If we made our relationship public, we would both be certainly exposed to this cruel hazing."

He embraced her then, so that she could not see his face, which he could no longer keep the look of disgust from appearing upon.

"My sweet Myrtle, we can never be together in public...but I hope you will remember that I will always love you." Tom managed to compose his face and pull away from the Ravenclaw.

Tears shone in her eyes. "Tom...I had no idea...you're the sweetest man I've ever kissed!" Tom hesitated from rolling his eyes; from what he'd heard, he was the ONLY man she'd ever kissed.

She embraced him again, catching his lips in hers, and...probing his mouth with her tongue. Out of mild curiosity, Riddle accepted it, and experimentally pushed his tongue forward as well. The sensations were...interesting, but he discarded their worth as he doubted they would lead him to power. (Perhaps if he aspired to seduce his way to the top of the Wizarding World, he would have paid more attention...but he had no interest in those carnal pursuits anyway).

Over the next two weeks, he had been intercepted within seconds of entering the bathroom by Myrtle. Every single time. He would kiss her for a while, leave, then double back and slip into the Chamber. But then she would be in the bathroom again!

The only thing that spared her life was her lack of curiosity as to why he kept going into the bathroom in the first place...he guessed that she thought he would only come in to visit her, but did not dwell on the matter, as trying to figure out the reasons the insane Mudblood behaved made his head hurt.

Finally, he struck upon a solution. He told her that the bathroom was becoming too dangerous for them, and they would have to meet up someplace else. Of course, Tom felt obliged to attend, or else Myrtle would intrude on his Chamber incursions again.

They only kissed at first, their tongues dancing together with delight. Well, she was delighted, certainly. Again, Tom was vaguely intrigued at the sensations he experienced, but again dismissed them.

Within a few weeks, they had graduated to heavy petting. Tom found it interesting that his body reacted when he ran his hand over the curves normally obscured by Myrtle's robes, but again dispassionately discarded them.

To his great annoyance, Myrtle elected to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas, just to spend time with him. He grudgingly obliged, and finally took her to bed on Christmas Day. "I love you," she had told him afterward.

Tom realized he had made a gigantic blunder, and called her mudblood filth. She giggled.

"You're so cute," she had cooed.

Tom shook with fury and told her that he was the Heir of Slytherin, the one who had been petrifying Mudbloods for months.

"Don't be silly, Tom! That would mean you hate me, and I know you don't." She kissed him again, and began running her hand down his body...

Rather than strangle her with his bare hands, he decided to allow her free rein to please herself with him. Sex was the most interesting distraction, but he always kept in mind that that was precisely what it was: a distraction.

XXXX

"...So I guess we were just so in love with each other, we both forgot to cast the protection spells," Myrtle explained.

Love. Tom's stomach tied itself into a knot. Love sickened him. It was a weakness that served no purpose, other than to distract. Love would not make him powerful.

He longed to kill Myrtle. The witch had ruined everything. The worst part was that he could not kill Myrtle, nor even harm her. She carried an heir of Salazar Slytherin in her, and he suspected it would be a gross blasphemy to kill it.

"I have to think," he said suddenly, turning and leaving Myrtle.

"Wait! Tom, I love you!" she called after him.

XXXX

Tom Riddle stormed through the halls of Hogwarts, thinking furiously. What the HELL was he supposed to do?

"Ah, Tom, I had hoped to run into you."

He turned swiftly. He had been addressed by Professor Dumbledore. "Professor," he acknowledged.

"I've heard from Madame Bones that you were visiting the hospital ward," he said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, sir, I was visiting Myrtle..."

"Ah yes, how is she?" Dumbledore asked.

"Pregnant."

Dumbledore did not reply. Tom turned to look at him again and, were the situation not so dire for him, he would have relished the look of total astonishment on the old man's face.

"Pregnant, you say, Tom? How?"

"Well, er, we sort of...well..." Tom suddenly felt embarrassed, and was infuriated at being so.

"I see...and you didn't think to use any protective spells?" Dumbledore asked, curious.

"We, uh...were caught up in the act, sir."

Dumbledore nodded. "Well, Tom, while rare, this is not a situation without precedent. You two will first have to be counseled by Headmaster Dippet, and your heads of houses, Professors Slughorn and Lovegood. They will tell you your options. If you would like, I can make an appointment for you."

Tom nodded.

XXXX

Two nights later, Tom lay in his bed, thinking about the meeting he had left minutes ago.

Unfortunately, of the options presented to him by Headmaster Dippet, none of them involved waiting until Myrtle gave birth, then striking her down with the Kiling Curse.

The first thing the Headmaster had suggested was terminating the pregnancy. He hadn't finished the sentence before Myrtle began sobbing loudly. Tom loudly (over Myrtle's sobs) reassured the Headmaster that that was not a realistic option, and took Myrtle's hand, if only to shut her up.

Dippet also suggested giving the child up for adoption, but that sent Myrtle into another crying frenzy, and Tom once again rejected the option. (He would no sooner lose control of his progeny than renounce his claim to heir of Slytherin, anyway).

The last option presented was for Riddle and Myrtle to get married. (If he actually cared about her, Tom might actually be vexed that he still did not know her last name). As Myrtle still had a year of schooling to go, she would have to employ a tutor and get her General Magic Equivalency Degree, like some rich families did for their children instead of sending them to Hogwarts. Tom never had a chance to object, as Myrtle had shouted "YES!" at the top of her lungs and -- of all things -- began sobbing again.

So, that was it. He was stuck with the Mudblood for nine months. (Or however long she had left to give him his child).

There was a tapping at his door. He stood and answered. It was Myrtle.

"Tom!" She smiled and kissed him. "I though that...well, since we're engaged..." She smiled again and blushed. "We could start spending the night together every night?"

Tom wasn't going to make it nine days, let alone nine months. His hand began going for his wand...

Myrtle slipped inside and closed the door. She undid her robes, which fell at her feet. She wore nothing underneath them.

...If she kept her mouth shut, he might make it.

XXXX

Three days later, Tom was on the verge of killing his fiancee.

She had told absolutely everybody in school that she was engaged -- to Tom Riddle, nonetheless! -- and now he was the laughingstock of the school.

Anytime somebody uttered two words at him, he cast the harshest jinx, hex, or curse on them as he could. After the first day, nobody was fool enough to approach him again. Even Peeves kept his distance, after the ghost had nearly been hexed in half.

But Myrtle! The damn woman wouldn't shut up! He couldn't think about becoming a powerful wizard when his mind was inundated with trivialities such as what kind of dress she was going to wear, what kind of cake they were going to eat, how many of her family were coming, how many of HIS family were coming (at least she shut up on that topic when he informed her he was an orphan), how much she hated Olive Hornby...she just droned on and on and on and he could hardly take it anymore.

Myrtle barged into his room without knocking. "Tom, I wanted to talk to you about the businesses on Diagon Alley we're going to be registering at -- for gifts and the like."

Tom decided to count to ten, and see if that helped calm him down. One, two...

"I also wanted to ask you where you wanted to get married. I was thinking Hogsmeade, or maybe this nice church in my hometown..."

Three, four...

"Oh, and we have to get some formal robes for you. You're not getting married in your school robes!"

Five, six...

"Oh, and I have to set up a baby shower! Not that many people will come, mind you, most people at school simply hate me -- jealous, I'm sure -- especially that horrid Olive Hornby, why, just this morning, do you know what she said to me?"

Seven, eight...

"She said, 'Myrtle, stop kidding around. We all know he only wants you for sex!' The nerve! So I just told her that she was jealous, and that what we have goes much, much deeper than sex..."

"ENOUGH!" Tom shouted.

"What?"

"I have had enough of your prattling on about Olive Hornby and the wedding!"

"Well, if you don't want to talk..." Myrtle said, starting to unbutton her robes.

"No! I don't want to hear you talk again! I'm going to do something I should have done days, weeks, MONTHS ago!"

He grasped her by her arm and dragged her out of his quarters. "That hurts, Tom!" she called, hurrying to keep pace wiht him, lest she be dragged.

After several twists, turns, going up and then down stairs, they reached the second floor girls' bathroom. Tom marched in and shouted "OPEN!" in Parseltongue.

"Tom, that sounded like the boy who was in here when --"

Tom ignored her and dragged her into the Chamber of Secrets. 


	4. Chapter 4

As Myrtle entered the great chamber, her breath caught in her throat as she sighted the great statue of Salazar Slytherin at the far end.

"Is that..." she asked, awe in her voice.

"Yes," Tom nodded. "The founder of my house...and my ancestor."

Realization dawned on Myrtle's face. "You mean...you really ARE the heir of Slytherin?"

In response, Tom turned towards the statue and spoke, more of that queer way of talking, all rasping and hissing. After a heartbeat, Salazar's stone mouth rumbled open, and the Basilisk stuck its head out again. Myrtle quickly turned away to face Tom again (lest she end up in the medical wing again).

"So you were trying to kill me before?" she demanded, tears already beginning to roll down her face.

Tom answered honestly. "No. But it wouldn't have mattered to me then. You were just a silly Mudblood."

Forgetting that she was a witch and had any number of spells at her command, she shrieked and began beating on his chest ineffectually. "YOU BASTARD! YOU BLOODY BASTARD!"

Tom grabbed her by the wrists and began talking. "I intended to cast off this life as Tom Riddle when I graduated, Myrtle. I would become Lord Voldemort, the true Heir of Slytherin, bane of half-bloods and mu...muggleborns everywhere. I would have bent Wizarding England to my will, and with time, perhaps even Muggle England. I would have performed Dark rituals which would have rendered me immortal."

Tom scowled. "And you ruined all of that. My plans, cast to ruins in an instant. And I cannot even begin to conceive of new plans, since you keep prattling on about the baby and the wedding and Olive bloody Hornby! The only reason I haven't struck you down with the Killing Curse is that you are carrying the blood descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself, and it would blaspheme everything I'm working for to kill it."

Myrtle stared at him in hatred, her lip still quivering. Finally, she turned away from him and ran, back out the Chamber.

"Affffter her?" the Basilisk asked, hopeful.

"No," Tom replied. "She is not to be harmed."

XXXX

Myrtle did not speak one word for the next week.

She followed Tom wherever he went, when they were not separated by classes or urges to use the bathroom. She would walk in pace next to him, glaring forward without blinking, or she would sit across from him, reading a book or simply glaring.

That week, Tom attended another Slug club gathering. After the usual festivities had died down and most of the guests had left, Professor Slughorn poured glasses of firewhiskey for himself and his favorite Slytherin. "Tom, my young man, your bride-to-be has been quite distant to you as of late. Bit of a squabble?" he asked.

"Er, no, sir. Well, a little, but nothing serious."

Slughorn nodded. "Ah, good, good, Tom. You know...there is a certain book of spells in the Restricted Section that is meant for adults...if you like, I could fetch it for you?"

To his horror, a fierce blush roared up on Tom's face. "N-no, Professor Slughorn, that will be quite unnecessary." Damnable hormones!

"Oh, I see, I see. Well, you certainly don't need any help in that department, eh?" he joked, chuckling jovially.

It took Tom a considerable amount of restraint to resist Cruciating his Head of House.

XXXX

"Wake up, Tom."

"Nnnnn."

"Damnation, Tom, wake up!"

Tom's eyes shot open, wand pointed ahead, ready to hex the bast-

"Oh, good evening, Bloody Baron. Why the hell did you wake me up?"

"It's Myrtle, Tom."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Of course it's Myrtle. What's she done now?"

The Baron looked grimmer than usual. "She's threatening to throw herself off the Astronomy Tower."

Tom's eyes widened. For a split second, he considered that all his problems would be solved with a plunge that would last no longer than ten seconds.

"My heir," he whispered to himself.

"Are you going to lay there like an ass, Tom Riddle, or are you going to save your beloved?" the Baron pressed.

Tom glared at the ghost for a moment, then bounded up and out the door in under two seconds.

Out of the shadows, the Grey Lady floated up to join the Bloody Baron.

"Tell me, Helena, do you think he'll save her?"

The Grey Lady considered this for a moment, then slowly shrugged.

The Baron nodded, then took one of the Grey Lady's ethereal hands and brushed his lips against it. "I pray he isn't too late."

XXXX

Tom arrived at the top of the Astronomy Tower in less than four minutes, huffing and puffing at having run the length of Hogwarts and then straight up several flights of stairs.

At the far end of the roof sat Myrtle on the edge. In one hand she held her wand, pointing straight at him.

Her other hand bore a knife, placed over her lower stomach, just about where a fetus would be.

"Hello, Tom." 


	5. Chapter 5

"Hello, Tom." The words hung in the air for what seemed like forever.

"Hello, Myrtle," Tom finally managed to respond. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What does it fucking look like I'm doing?" she screeched at him.

"It looks like you're about to make a very serious mistake." Tom was having a difficult time choosing the right words to use; considering how willing he had previously been to take a life, searching for the way to preserve a life (especially one that had had such a cloyying effect on his plans) was like fighting against the current of a raging river.

"Oh? Which mistake would that be? K-k-killing our baby, the real heir of Slytherin, who I'm sure you'd love to see grow up to command that awful monster to slay muggleborns? Maybe you're referring to my plan to leap off the Astronomy Tower, the decision I came to since I found out my husband-to-be is a remorseless killer?" Tears of hatred ran down her face now, her voice raspy with all the fury and betrayal that had been building up in her. She squeezed the wand in her free hand and levelled it evenly at the head of her would-be husband. "Or maybe you think it's a mistake if I want to take the bastard responsible for all this with me."

Tom swallowed and tried to figure out if Myrtle really was capable of murder and suicide. The way he had treated her as of late...he honestly couldn't tell. His one chance was that she valued the life of her unborn child more than she valued spiting him. "Myrtle, I know you don't want to do this."

"Don't tell me what I want!" she demanded. "You forfeited any say in what I might want when you tried to murder me!"

"I already told you, I didn't..." Tom discarded that line of thought as irrelevant. "Look, if you were going to jump, you would have done it by now."

"I'm just getting warmed up."

"You sent the Bloody Baron to me, so that I would talk you down."

"I did NOT!" Myrtle rebutted harshly. Much quieter, she continued: "It was the Grey Lady."

Tom smiled internally. He had won. "You already know you're not going to harm yourself, Myrtle, and especially not the baby. So why don't you just come down from there?" He took a step forward.

Rather than come down, she actually pulled the knife closer to herself, dimpling her stomach. "Why do you even care about the baby? Even if all that rot about the blood of Slytherin is true, well, doesn't my muddy mudblood blood cancel that out?"

Tom realized that she was actually serious. She might just go through with it. His only option was to tell his darkest secret. "...No, Myrtle. Your blood doesn't matter. You see, I myself...my father was a muggle."

Myrtle let the knife fall in utter shock. "What? Your father was a muggle?" Tom nodded sheepishly. "And you were going to prance about as Lord Moldywart or somesuch, preaching blood purity as you executed anyone with identical circumstances?" Another nod. "BLOODY, BLOODY HYPOCRITE!" She thrust her wand forward and sent a massive stinging hex at him, landing straight in the genitals.

Tom grunted in pain as he fell backwards, landing against the wall and curling up in agony, cradling the affected area in his hands. He looked up at Myrtle, who stepped away from the ledge of the Astronomy Tower and grinned at him. "Naughty bastard," she chided with a titter. Tom groaned again as he wasn't sure which Myrtle he preferred more, the angry vengeful one or the cheeky cheery one.

He realized then that he could hear steps coming up the staircase, and turned his head to see who it was coming up. Probably Dumbledore, that nosy -

"If it isn't mopy, miserable, moaning Myrtle," Olive Hornby crowed. She walked right past Tom, not noticing his presence from him being scrunched up on the ground.

"What are you doing up here?" Myrtle asked sharply.

"I could ask you the same thing," she said condescendingly. "But we both know why you were up here, don't we? Oh yes, I overheard the Grey Lady talking to the Bloody Baron. 'Oh, it's so awful!'," Olive mocked. "'Myrtle's going to throw herself off the Astronomy Tower in despair!' Everybody knows you and Tom Riddle aren't speaking to each other any more, Myrtle. It's obvious he's finally opened his eyes to your many flaws. I'm willing to bet you aren't even pregnant, and he found out."

"I am pregnant!" Myrtle insisted.

"It doesn't really matter, does it? After all, that baby will be going with you over the edge of the tower within moments."

"I don't think so." She moved to walk past her hated nemesis, but was stopped by Olive's wand.

"Oh, but I do think so, Myrtle. You see, you've been under the delusion that you're good enough for a man of Tom Riddle's stature for too long. And once you're out of the picture, he'll be able to see that there are...much higher quality female specimens available to him." She gestured to her body, to drive home the point.

"What makes you so much better than me, you bloody bitch?" Myrtle snarled at her.

The other woman leaned in close. "I'm the heir of Slytherin," she confided.

Myrtle was silent for a moment. Then, she began laughing. "Stop laughing," Olive commanded, stony-faced. Her target of torment simply laughed harder. This was NOT how this was supposed to go. "I said stop laughing!" Myrtle was now clutching her sides, she was laughing so hard. "IMPERIO!"

Myrtle stopped laughing.

"Now, Myrtle, I want you to turn around and walk off this fucking tower and fucking die screaming."

Tom watched, horrified, as Myrtle wordlessly turned around and walked off the tower. The pain in his genitals forgotten, he leapt to his feet, pushed past the surprised (and horrified) woman, and without thinking dove off the tower after her.

The imperius broken, Myrtle began screaming, tears making their way from her eyes for the last time as she tumbled to the earth below. Suddenly, she felt arms wrap around her, and looked up. "TOM!" she screamed. She simply wrapped her arms around him and waited for the inevitable.

It took her ten seconds to realize they were no longer falling. "It's okay," Tom reassured her. "I've got you."

Myrtle's eyes shot open as she looked around. They were floating halfway from the top of the tower, and she could see no broom. "But who's got you?" she asked, bewildered.

"I can fly," he told her casually, as if it were no big deal. "It's a little trick I picked up recently." With a bit of effort, they began moving upward, and in no time were back at the top. Olive Hornby, wisely, had vanished in the intervening time.

"I hate her," Myrtle rasped angrily. "I hate her so much."

For once, Tom agreed with her, nodding. "She will pay for attempting to harm you."

She looked up to him. "For attempting to harm me? What about the baby?"

"You and the baby," he amended.

"And what about my being a mudblood?" she asked him archly, one hand on her hip.

"Blood doesn't matter," he corrected her, before capturing her lips in a kiss, which she eagerly returned.

XXXXXXXXXX

A new chapter, after four years! I apologize for the extended wait, but it took me quite a while to figure out where to go from Myrtle perching on the tower, ready to end it all. I knew that she would end up falling and that Tom would fly to her rescue, but it didn't strike me until recently to use Olive Hornby as the push.

This is mostly the end of the fic, but stay tuned for an epilogue...and a SEQUEL! 


	6. Chapter 6

Tom Riddle arose from his seat in the den at the sound of knocking at the door. Upon opening it, he slightly recoiled at seeing his mirror image. After a brief moment, he recovered; it wasn't quite his mirror image, or rather, it would have been his mirror image twenty years ago. A young, bespectacled woman stood next to him, his eyes taking in the childish pigtails and the decidedly un-childish way her stomach poked outward.

"Father?" the youthful doppelganger asked, and understanding took root.

"Did Merope send you?" Tom Riddle (the elder) asked brusquely.

"Merope? Ah, my mother." His son shook his head slowly. "I only today learned her name. You see, she died giving birth to me."

Tom Riddle's eyebrows elevated in surprise. "I hadn't known she was dead."

"There are many things you don't know," the younger man snapped off, matching his father's earlier tone.

"Well then, boy, educate me." He gestured to the woman. "Let me guess, you need money to help take care of your wife and expectant child?"

The younger man snarled. "I neither need nor want your money. I am perfectly capable of taking care of Myrtle and our child."

"Very well, then off with you." He began to close the door when the young man went for something in his pocket, only stopped by Myrtle laying a hand on his arm. "I can see where you get it from," she said to him, a teasing smile on her face. He returned the smile, before turning back to his father (who hadn't shut the door in curiosity).

"Father...please. I wanted to know about you. I wanted to know more about my mug-my father's past. And I wanted to know why you left my mother."

Seeing the burning curiosity in his son's eyes, Riddle himself softened and nodded. "Alright, inside then." He stepped to the side, allowing the couple entry, before closing the door.

As they walked down the hall, Riddle asked, "What is your name?"

The young man frowned a little. "Well, my mother's last words were to name Tom, for you, and Marvolo, for my grandfather, with, again, your surname." He smirked. "Apparently, the orphanage thought I came from circus stock, due to the strangeness of my grandfather's name."

"Your orphanage wasn't too far off, at that," the elder Riddle said, his mouth puckering in memory. "The Gaunts were all crazy, every last one of them. Why, my father says that he was told stories by his grandfather about -"

The younger Riddle interrupted him. "Yes, I already knew that my mother's family was insane. I tracked them down mainly through legal records, and I met with my...uncle...earlier today. That visit yielded only two positive results: the family ring," Myrtle held out her hand, showing off a gold band with a strange black stone set into it, "as well as your location. The rest of our conversation did not go well." He unconsciously put an arm around Myrtle and pulled her a little closer.

They reached the den, then, and Tom the elder introduced Tom the younger and Myrtle to his parents. "Tom Marvolo Riddle? Then you're..." The older woman trailed off.

"Yes, ma'am," the wizard replied. "I take after my father, as you can see." He, too, had noted the similarity in appearance between him and his father.

"So you do, so you do," his grandfather said. "Nasty business, that. Tommy never elaborated on what happened, said that he was tricked by that woman, but Cecilia never forgave him." The old man shook his head.

"You never said that you left Merope Gaunt pregnant, Tom," his mother chided him. "Tommy, even if a woman's lured you in on false pretenses, it's your responsibility as the father to make sure the child is well taken care of."

Tom drew some small measure of amusement from the blush of embarrassment on his father's face at the repeated use of the childish name. Myrtle did, too, as evidenced by her attempting to stifle giggles (and failing). "I was actually hoping to find out exactly why you left my mother," Tom asked his father again.

The older Tom took a long glance at his parents and Myrtle, then nodded. "Alright, Tom. Let's talk. But not here." He gestured to Myrtle. "Mom, Dad, please keep this young woman company." They nodded in acquiescence, and the two Riddles left together.

XXXX

The father led the son outside to a small garden, where he knelt down and began to weed. "Don't you have a caretaker for this?" Young Tom asked.

"Frank has his own victory garden," Old Tom answered. "He fought in the war, so we let him tend his and don't ask him to tend ours." His son shrugged and got down next to him, glad he had paid attention during the herbology classes on non-magical plantlife.

"So, my mother?"

The elder Riddle weeded silently for a few minutes, and Tom almost asked again, but he finally spoke. "For all my life, I never gave the Gaunts more than a second thought. The only time I even gave them a first thought was whenever they would come to our property and leave something...unpleasant, or when I would be out for a walk and catch sight of the eyesore of a cottage they lived in."

"What happened to change that?"

Tom's father grunted. "It was a hot summer day. On one of my frequent walks, I came across Merope, and she offered me water. Of the Gaunts, she was...the least crazy...so I figured no harm would come if I took the drink. Afterwards..."

A few moments passed, and Tom's son grew impatient. "Afterwards?" he prompted.

The older man stopped weeding and glanced towards him. "You have to understand, Tom, while she was more or less mentally stable, she was...nothing to write home about, in terms of appearance."

"She was ugly."

His son's bluntness made him bark out a short laugh. "And yet, after she offered me her water...she filled all my senses. I was thirsty all over again, and she was a tall, cool glass of water. The weeks and months after that were...a blur. I have vague memories of eloping, of the...night after..." Both men made a face at the image. "The first clear memory I have is her telling me that she was pregnant. At that moment, it was like...my eyes had been opened. She said that she had stopped giving me...something...and that I must actually love her, since we had made a child together. But...the horror of it all struck me. She had dosed me with...something...and done things to me. So I ran."

"Amortentia..." the young Tom Riddle said aloud, realizing what must have happened.

"Huh?" the old Tom Riddle said, recoiling a little at the name. "That's what she called it. Said it was a...potion. Is that right?" His son nodded. "Everything else...I always thought it was just a hallucination, from the drug...potion...she had given me, but..." He leaned in close and his voice lowered to a whisper. "Are you a wizard?"

"I am, father. A great and powerful wizard. And I have you to thank."

"Me?"

The younger Riddle nodded. "Yes. As you've noted, the Gaunts were all wrong in the head to some degree. This extended to their magical ability - when Myrtle and I visited my uncle earlier, he tried to hex me." He grinned savagely. "He found out that was a bad idea. But his attempt was weak, and I suspect it was because of generations of inbreeding. When my mother did...what she did, she introduced new blood which reinforced the weakening magic of my bloodline - one of great strength."

His father abruptly stood up, so young Tom did the same. "It's almost funny," the young man continued. "I came here today with half a mind to hex you, for running off and abandoning my mother. I thought that you had left her because you hated magic, and I wished to...punish you, for leaving me. But if you were under the effect of love potion..." He shook his head, frowning. "Especially for months at a time. Its use is highly illegal, and for good reason."

"Where do we go from here, then?" his father asked.

"Let's go inside, see how Myrtle and...Grandmother and Grandfather are faring."

XXXX

Gellert Grindelwald had spies throughout all England, both wizarding and muggle sectors.

He didn't believe the English Ministry of Magic, or any of the several free Ministries in continental Europe, utilized muggle spies; Albus didn't employ them either, despite his turning away from the ideals of magical superiority.

It was true that the muggle spies rarely came up with anything good, but he knew muggles weren't idiots. On the occasions where they did turn up something for him, it was usually something good.

Their latest piece of intel was something great. Something incredible. Something that would change the course of the war.

It was a newspaper from the town of Great Hangleton. The headline read "Riddle Heir Found!". The article was about some family of minor importance from the nearby hamlet of Little Hangleton, but that's not what concerned Grindelwald.

He had ordered his spy to retrieve the negative of the photograph which accompanied the article. Once in possession of the negative, he magically enhanced it so he could see it all the more clearly.

There were three people in the photo. The one farthest to the left was an older man, something of a receding hairline, a smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. Clearly uncomfortable with being photographed, or from being next to the other man in the photograph, a spitting image of the older one (son, obviously).

The one most intriguing to Gellert, however, was the third person in the photo, Myrtle Riddle. He cast another magnification spell on the photograph, and leaned in close enough that he could lick the image.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" he said aloud to nobody in particular, hoping that the answer was no.

His fingers caressed the image lovingly. "I do not think so." Myrtle Riddle had a ring on her hand. The ring had a black stone. The black stone had a triangle, housing a circle, with a line running down the middle.

The symbol of the Deathly Hallows.

Gellert Grindelwald smiled.

XXXXXXXXXX

Stay tuned, ladies and gentlemen, for The Heir of Peverell, coming soon! (Though at least a month from now, because I'm dumb enough to be participating in Camp NaNoWriMo for the month of April). 


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